À la recherche du temps perdu.

 

 

À la recherche du temps perdu. In Search of Lost Time 

by Marcel Proust

In his book, À la recherche du temps perdu, the writer invokes memories from the past by eating a Madeleine cake. Oddly enough, this happened to me the other day when I suddenly remembered Black Bun. It suddenly came to mind and took me back to my many visits to Scotland.

For those refined readers of mine who do not know what Black Bun is, let me explain. It is a rich Scottish fruitcake which is encased in pastry and then cooked. It is a particular delicacy up North on Hogmanay; and other celebratory occasions. You prepare the pastry first then fill it with the fruitcake ingredients and bake.

Normally the final product looks like a brick. I remember a nameless mother-in-law relative who made it so hard that I took my cake out and threw it at the ducks in the pond to eat. They threw it back at me. I threw it back in the water and eventually it broke up for them to eat. You should have heard them breaking wind all the way home. Have you ever seen a flying duck breaking wind? It leaves a trail of smoke behind it.

Anyway, such memories for some unconnected reason, took me to the day when my auntie's goldfish died. She was proud of that goldfish and always pointed it out to me when I visited her. She called him Rover. One day she went out to the shop nearby and left me at home alone. I accidentally dropped the side light into the fish tank and electrocuted Rover. I fixed the light OK and it worked properly; but Rover was never the same again. I quickly went to the kitchen where I knew she had some carrots. I sliced one all along its length and shaped it like a fish the size of Rover and put it in the tank leaning beside some water plant she had there. Then I flushed Rover down the toilet.

When she returned, I finished my tea and cake quickly and bid her goodbye. She never mentioned it to me. She probably thought he died a natural death. Drowned most probably!

Amazing how thinking of Proust led me to all these memories. I was quite well-read at school you know. The other children wrote all over me with their Biros. One day in Science lesson I meant to write on the blackboard that an octopus has eight tentacles. But I miss-spelt tentacles and the teacher was very upset and she sent me to the headmaster. He did not know how to write it either.

I remember when one day my English teacher said to me "Your grammar stinks!"

I was upset since my grandma always smelled of lavender.

I told my father what the teacher had said and he asked "Which grand-mother?"

He wrote a letter of complaint.

My teacher replied that she had never commented on, nor would she ever presume to comment on, my family's body odour!

On reading her letter my father gave me a clip round the ears and then wrote again to the teacher apologising for the misunderstanding.

On reading my father's letter the teacher gave me detention after school.

On the Saturday I went to Confession. Our church had an old fashioned confessional which was a wooden booth where the priest sat and the penitents would kneel on either side and confess through a small window.

I told the priest all that had happened. He said "Don't speak so loud I can smell your grandmother kneeling on my other side!" Although he did not specify which grandma he could smell.

Then he gave me an extra penance for speaking loudly and for drawing attention to old peoples' body odour. Which technically I had not done because it was not me who started all this; it was my English teacher who said "Your grammar stinks!"

I think the church got this whole question of confession and absolution wrong somehow. I got a penance for my teacher's sin!

Moral: So did Jesus.

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Percentage Belief

 

 A man named Jarius pleaded with Jesus for help because his daughter was dying. (Luke 8:40-56).

On His way to Jarius’ house, with a crowd following, there was a woman who had been ill for some time and doctors could do nothing for her. She thought: “if only I could get close enough to Jesus and touch His cloak, I’ll be healed.”

And so she did, and she was healed. Jesus felt her touching Him and said to her: “Your Faith has healed you.”

As He continued His journey a messenger came and told Jarius that his daughter was dead. “Don’t disturb Jesus any further.”

Jesus said to Jarius: “Don’t be afraid; only believe and she will be well.”

He then went to the house and raised the child from the dead.

As He was leaving that place, two blind men followed Jesus. (Matthew 9:27-31).

They begged Him to be healed.

So Jesus asked them: “Do you believe that I can heal you?”

“Yes” they answered.

Jesus touched their eyes and said: “Let it happen, then, just as you believe!”

And their sight was restored.

The common theme in these three incidents is that the individuals concerned believed in Jesus and in His power of healing.

The woman did not even have to ask Him. She believed that touching Him alone would heal her.

Jarius must have been devastated to hear of his daughter’s death; but Jesus told him to believe. He had a quick choice to make: carry on towards the house with Jesus, or send Him away. He believed in Jesus.

The two blind men were asked directly: “Do you believe that I can heal you?”

What a challenge from Jesus Himself. Do you really believe? Or are you here because you may have heard so much about me, or as a gamble that it might work, or for some other reason?

When we earnestly pray to God and ask for something; what percentage in us really believes that He can help us? Or is there that minute 1% of a doubt lurking there, at the back of our mind, making us doubt His willingness, or ability, to help?

Shakespearean Tragedy

Now not many of you know this, but I am a Shakespearean actor. I am a member of a small troupe who perform publicly at various venues far and wide.

We’re very good really. Matilda, Hilary, Gerard and I. It’s a small troupe as I said … an ensemble you might call us. We try our best to be as authentic as possible when performing our plays; or bits of plays like monologues, sonnets and so on.

Now being a perfectionist, I like to dress in full costume beforehand and rehearse my lines in front of a full length mirror. You should have seen me as Mark Anthony the other day … frightened the cat I did!

One evening I was rehearsing my lines from Hamlet. “To be or not to be … that is the question!” I said in my best English accent. “To be … or not … to be …”

For those of you who haven't read or seen Hamlet, let me explain. This is the scene where Hamlet was putting together an IKEA bed and he picks up a piece of wood marked 2A and asks whether it goes with "2B ... or not ... 2B?"

Whilst I was rehearsing that scene the cat came into the room meowing and rubbing himself against my legs. I gently pushed him away and continued, “To be … or not to be …”

But the wretched cat continued to pester me, and my rehearsal turned more into, “To meow … or not to meow … that is the purr purr, question.”

“Go away”, I said to the silly creature, “this is a monologue … not a catalogue!”

But it wouldn’t go away, so I eventually put him out in the garden just as my guests arrived.

So there we were, Matilda, Hilary, Gerard and I, enjoying a nice cup of hot lemon tea. I like to offer them lemon tea because it loosens the vocal chords you see; it was also on offer and a little cheaper at the supermarket this week.

So we were enjoying a nice cuppa and chatting away casually when the cat came in and gently placed a dead mouse at Matilda’s feet.

“Eeeeek!!!”

She screamed loudly throwing her hot tea in Gerard’s lap. He quickly awoke feeling the sudden rise in temperature in his Southern regions and accidentally kicked the small table sending teapot, sugar and Viennese biscuits flying through the air.

I like to offer Viennese biscuits because they’re so delicate … and also on offer … buy one get one free. So I got two packets.

Anyway, in the mayhem that ensued the dog suddenly awoke and rushed out of the room.

The whole evening’s events were totally disrupted and our rehearsals adjourned to a date in the very distant future.

The cat enjoyed the Viennese biscuits but was not too partial to the lemon tea.

I understand both Matilda and Gerard are consulting their respective lawyers.

Anyway, weeks later, after all these events died down, I landed a big part in a play that’s showing locally in town. I play the part of a mouse.

I know it’s not Shakespeare but he could have written it I suppose; if he was into pantomimes. That’s a British comedic theatre style, for those of you who don’t know.

I play one of the mice that turn into horses in the Cinderella story. I’m sure you know the story, the Fairy Godmother turns a pumpkin into a horse drawn carriage and the mice into horses. I play one of the mice.

Now as I mentioned before, I like to rehearse my lines in full costume at home in front of a full length mirror.

I realise that in Cinderella I don’t have any lines to say per se. I just stand there dressed as a mouse together with three other actors; then there’s a big bang as the Fairy Godmother waves her wand … the lights go out … and when they come on again we’ve left the stage and we’re replaced by four other actors dressed like horses.

It’s very complicated you see and requires a lot of rehearsals to get it right.

So I took my costume home and put it on. Then I stood there in front of the mirror looking like a giant mouse.

The cat came in and AHHH!!!! He was totally frightened out of his nine lives. He thought one of the many mice he has been chasing in the past had come back for revenge. He climbed madly on top of the wardrobe and would not come down … shaking to death he was.

What a turn of events. The cat who made my life hell all these years is now cowering away like a quivering jelly on top of the wardrobe.

The lazy dog usually half-asleep in front of the TV woke up suddenly upon hearing the cat’s commotion. He looked at me and decided there’s no way he’d let a giant mouse usurp his territory.

He started growling. I tried to calm him down, but he pounced toppling me onto the ground and biting me in several unmentionable places.

I’m currently recuperating in hospital. But considering playing the role of the wardrobe in our next production of The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe.

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Family Tree Surprises

 

Whilst researching my family tree I have discovered another of my famous ancestors. His name was Deacon Quentin Al Fresco and he lived at the same time as Michelangelo when he painted the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel.

Originally, the Pope at the time wanted the ceiling painted light blue. But Quentin Al Fresco, who considered himself an art connoisseur, hired Michelangelo to do the job and commissioned the paintings we know and love today.

At first Michelangelo was reluctant, saying that it would take too long to paint such a high ceiling needing scaffolding and ladders and lying on his back all the time. But Deacon Quentin convinced him otherwise.

He explained that he could draw the painting in pencil first and then by painting with numbers he could easily fill in the various bits with the same numbers and hey presto we would have a wonderful masterpiece hanging over our heads.

Michelangelo was not convinced especially since he suffered from vertigo; a condition he got from eating some dodgy lobsters. But Quentin Al Fresco suggested that there was no need for scaffolding and ladders. All Michelangelo had to do, is dip the paintbrush in the appropriate paint pot according to the colour indicated by the numbers and then jump high on a trampoline and fill in the bits of the drawing on the ceiling. Every time he jumped high in the air he would paint a different bit of the drawing.

Michelangelo tried it and fell off the trampoline breaking his arm.

Undeterred Quentin tried something else. He gave the masterpiece painter a brush thirty feet long and suggested he paints the ceiling by just standing solid on terra firma. The painter had difficulty dipping the brush in the paint pots. Apart from all the mess he made spilling paint everywhere, every time he tried to lower the brush into the pot, the long handle poked someone in the eye.

But Quentin was resolute and taught Michelangelo to ride a unicycle, or mono-cycle. You know ... those contraptions with one wheel, a long metal tube and a seat on top. Only this one had a tube thirty feet long. Eventually, with assistants holding on to the bike, Michelangelo managed to finish painting the Sistine Chapel. But not before he fell several times breaking a collar bone, three ribs, and a jar of vino he had in his pocket.

These days we celebrate Michelangelo for the famous painting of the Sistine Chapel; but the true hero, Quentin Al Fesco has long been forgotten.

What would you think?

 

The windmills of my mind

 

Is it my imagination or are there more and more of these wind turbines being built all over the place? Wherever I drive in the countryside I see them there in the fields like daffodils in Spring. They suddenly appear where previously they were not. We went to the beach the other day and there they were paddling in the water along with the holiday makers.

I am told that they are good for the environment. Now I am not a scientist and do not understand all that. But have you considered how much electricity is used to make those windmills go round and round? How can this be good for the environment?

They also say that these turbines emit a sound that we cannot hear and it is bad for us in the long run. So I now take just short runs to the pub and back; and drive for other journeys whatever the distance.

Also, I read somewhere that these turbines are bad for birds because they perch on the blades and fall off as it goes round. 

Some people have suggested that to improve the countryside and beaches the turbines should be built inside caves instead of open spaces. An idea worth trying.

Anyway, the fact is they are building them everywhere. The other day I got up at night and found they built one in our bathroom. I was desperate to go and there it was blocking my way in. By the time I ran to the other room downstairs it was (almost) too late. Another team of engineers were building one there too; but I threw them out in time.

Can any of our bright and intelligent readers explain the benefits of these turbines? I am afraid that if they build so many around the world the whole planet will take off and fly somewhere else instead.

Look right ----->

 

Family Tree Surprises

 

Whilst searching my family tree I discovered some branch or other flourished in Greece. One such old ancestor is Quentin Zorba the Greek. He lived around 370 BC and worked as an assistant to a certain doctor called Hippocrates. As the name implies, he was a vet who treated hippopotamuses. Hippocrates that is, not my relative Quentin. He invented the Hippocritical Oath which promised that he'd heal any hippopotamus regardless to the danger to himself. As there were no hippos in Greece his promise was never tested. So he healed hippies instead. 

Another Greek relative I discovered also went by the same name; Quentin Bouzouki. He lived around 470 BC and knew the Greek philosopher Heraclitus. Apparently the philosopher didn't like people in general. He was always sad and melancholy, (face like a melon and body like a collie), and always cried in his beer in the pub despite Quentin's corny jokes. He was known as the "Weeping Philosopher"; especially on that day when Quentin put some lobsters in his bath-tub as a joke.

One day Heraclitus got sick with dropsy and no doctor could cure him. So he decided to cure himself by covering his body with cow manure and sitting in the sun for it to bake. This certainly did the trick. He died within a day. Which goes to prove - when you're up to your neck in **** don't sit in public for all to see.

As a sideline, and also leading to the discovery of another relative named Quentin "the writer"; I have not been able to find his surname. As you know, Homer was a Greek author living around 850 BC and is thought to have written two outstanding books called the Iliad and the Odyssey. Unfortunately, opinion is divided as to whether Homer actually wrote both works; a bit like the debate about whether Shakespeare did actually write all that he wrote. After various attempts to contact the  original publishers to find out the truth it was discovered that they'd gone out of business. However, rumours have it from my research, that Quentin was the writer and Homer the editor of these works. I tried to read them but did not understand a word. It was all Greek to me.

Money Money Money

 

I’m sure you know the story about the rich man who was told by Jesus to sell everything he had, give it to the poor, and follow Jesus. (Mark 10:17-27)

The man just could not do this, and went away sad.

Jesus also says that famous saying about it being harder for a rich man to enter Heaven than for a camel to go through the eye of a needle.

 What did it mean? Did Jesus refer to a gate called Needle, or was it a mountain pass which was so narrow you had to unload your camel of what it was carrying, pass the camel through, and then load it again.

It really doesn't matter. What matters is what Jesus meant in what He said to the rich man.

Jesus advised him to sell all he has and to give the money to the poor; and then to come and follow Jesus.

On hearing this the man went away very sad; he was not willing to follow the advice given.

 What would you have done?

Let’s assume God spoke to you right now, in a dream, or a vision, and you were certain it was Him speaking. Just as certain as Abraham, Moses, Noah, Mary, Joseph and many others were when God spoke to them. And God asked you to sell everything and give it to the poor, and become a missionary or a volunteer helper somewhere far off your community.

Would you be able to do it? Would you leave your spouse and family behind and follow Jesus wherever He asks you to go? Would you sell off everything you have, give up your job, leaving your children with nothing; and move on to a new life?

On reflection, perhaps we sympathise a little with the rich man. For we know not whether he had a family, friends and servants who relied on him – although we can assume he had. All these would have been left with nothing if the rich man followed Christ's advice to the letter.

Jesus was testing where the man's heart really was. What was more important to him, wealth or God? 

He certainly was not teaching against wealth in itself. Wealth creates wealth. It creates jobs and it creates the wherewithal to help others less fortunate than ourselves.

Christ condones, nay encourages, the creation of wealth in His parable about the servants given a gold coin each by their master. When he returned from his travels the master discovered that two servants managed to make their fortune increase whilst the third just didn’t bother. So he rewards the hard-working servants and punishes the other. (Luke 19:11-27).

In this story about the rich man Jesus was teaching responsible wealth. There’s nothing wrong in working hard and amassing a fortune honestly. As long as we use it responsibly. As long as we don't make wealth more important to us than God.

Those who are fortunate to have wealth should remember their responsibility to share it with others, and to help others, as best they can. This doesn’t mean sell everything and give it to the poor. It means be aware of those around you who are less fortunate than yourself; and share your good fortune with them.

In the parable of the rich man and Lazarus (Luke 16:19-31) Jesus does not condemn the rich man for being wealthy; but for not even realizing, never mind caring, for a poor man starving at his gate.

And wealth does not necessarily mean riches and money.

Some people are wealthy in different ways: wealthy in wisdom and knowledge, wealthy in health and stamina, wealthy in talents and so on.

Those amongst us who are well educated and knowledgeable should not look down on others haughtily and with disdain. Use your knowledge to teach others.

Those who are fortunate to be healthy should remember the sick and if possible visit them or help them as best they can.

Those with talents for music, the arts, sports or whatever should share their talents with others. Imagine the good you can achieve as a professional sportsman if you visit a school and share a few moments coaching children in whatever it is you do. Or if a musician or celebrity shared a few moments with less talented yet aspiring youngsters. That visit would be imprinted on young memories for life – and may well inspire them to do better and achieve more.

Let’s all look at ourselves deeply and discover what wealth God has given us.

Money, good health, a talent for music, painting, singing or whatever … and let’s share it for the glory of, and in thanksgiving to, God our Creator.  

Round the planet in 80 spins

 

We are told we have to save the planet. What we are saving it from I still do not know. The way we're all behaving right now suggests we should save it from ourselves.

People talk about global warming - we are burning too many things which are bad for the planet and cause its temperature to rise, and this is bad because the icebergs will melt and the seas will rise and only the strongest swimmers will survive. 

Others don't agree with this theory and believe temperatures rise and fall in a cyclical fashion and as in the past we had the ice-age we are only going through a phase and we will survive through it.

Personally, I am not clever enough to understand one argument from another. It's like the argument about the extinction of dinosaurs. Some say they all died because they could not withstand the cold temperatures of the ice-age; others say they died because they were killed by a meteorite, or asteroid which hit the earth. Although why they were all standing in the same place at the time is a mystery to me.

Now about this global warming thing. I feel it is because of candles. Can you imagine how many candles are lit at any one time in the world? In churches, in restaurants, at romantic dinner tables, in the bathroom - I mean; whoever thought of candles in the bathroom? Very dangerous if you happen to singe your hair. On birthday cakes too? Come on - admit it. How many candles are on your birthday cake each year? They all contribute to global warming.

That and cows breaking wind apparently. Cows break wind more than other creatures because they have two stomachs. It seems that all the gases coming out of cows float up to the sky and make a hole in the sky through which the sun rays get in and makes us warm.

Another reason for global warming, I am told, is deforestation. The other day I was sitting at the library reading about global warming, and a man beside me said, "“Do you realize that all the time you've been sitting here 500 square miles of rain forest have been destroyed?” So I got up and sat elsewhere. I don't want to be blamed for destroying a forest.

Yet another reason for global warming is books. Books are made of paper which comes from wood from trees. Do you realise that there are millions of books being printed in the world each year and most of them go unread? Including mine. Which is a pity because you're missing out on a good read. Just click the link to find out more. Or you can get them in Kindle formats and save on a lot of paper and trees being cut down.

Family Tree Surprises

 

It's amazing what surprises you discover when you search you family tree on-line. I have found out that one of my ancestors dates back to ancient Romans time. His name was Quentin Caesar Salad. He was called salad because of the varied and interesting amount of knowledge and accumulation of facts he had stored in a lifetime of studying. Indeed he was a sage who knew his onions. Nicknamed sage and onions stuffing.

Quentin Caesar Salad invented Roman numerals. He convinced the Emperor Nero Claudius Caesar Augustus Germanicus that instead of counting his enemies as individuals it would be easier to mark on the wall a vertical line like an I for each enemy he had and then count all the Is. The idea soon caught on and Quentin was a hero. Everyone counted in Is instead of counting the items in question. 

There were Is everywhere in ancient Rome. You couldn't go anywhere without Is staring at you. Hence the saying, "walls have Is".     

All street names, days on the calendar and chariots registration numbers had the Roman numeral I for identification. Can you imagine writing the day 31 January as IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII. Count them. (You did?)

The idea stopped because chariot registration numbers grew so wide with the number of IIIIIs on them that the registration plate knocked pedestrians over as the chariots rushed by. Often chariots got stuck between two trees, (sorry ... II trees), as chariots sped by.  

That's when Quentin came up with a new idea to save losing his head. 

He suggested the introduction of new symbols. When we reach the number 4 it be written as IV, 5 as V, 6 as VI and so on until 8. Then he changed his mind and decided that IX would represent 9, X for 10, XI for 11 and so on. Then he added new letters for good measure. For example L for 50, C for 100, D for 500 and M for 1000.

For a while all was well and the Romans were happy counting in this new way. Then one day, the Emperor Nero received a strange text saying – I LV CLAVDIVS – and he didn’t know whether it was a misdirected amorous message from his wife to Claudius the slave, or his wife’s new telephone number.

So in a rage the Emperor banned the use of all cell-phones from the whole of the Roman Empire.

Nothing was heard from Quentin Caesar Salad after that. Or Claudius the slave for that matter.

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